He Is Silent Now

He is silent now. Doesn’t get up
till later. Doesn’t comb
his hair carefully till later than that.

He is silent now and we are all safe
from what he says. From what he
does to it. From his concerns.

He is silent now thinking
of Irish Spring soap by the bucket
and how it caresses his fat, his fist.

He is silent now and there’s no dog
or cat to sit beside him and snuffle
or drool beside his own puddle.

He is silent now and doesn’t care
to speak unless someone’s there
to praise him and that’s it.

He is silent now but not for long.
He will get up and bluster and the evil
he speaks will be ordinary and drab.

He is silent now, wears his tie too long,
wears his hair too wrong, is going to open
his mouth when he has nothing good to say.

He is silent now. Quickly,
startle him till his heart gives out.
He won’t die, sadly, but

he will be naked, won’t know it,
will freeze, will get goosebumps
the size of concentration camps,

will fall leaving minions to scuttle
and scatter while he sputters and prattles —
yes, he is silent now, but (we pray) not for long.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
onward,
T